"I'm the most real thing on TV!"
This quote from the WWE superstar Shawn "HBK" Michaels begins my post tonight.
And so with my own sense of realness I continue the story of my travels, or travails, as it were.
So begins booze and boobs pt. 2!
In Barcelona my drunken loneness was broken by the meeting of Sylvia...that's been stated. Whats hasn't been stated is my adoration for the young-dark-tressed-seductive-and-ultimately-unattainnable pharmacist whose late nite convenience enabled the coupling of Sylvia and I. I met her only twice. Twice she robbed me of illusion. Ill fortune making me need the thing she had. And what she had was copious and grand beauty (oh, and the issue that she was the only local shop open at 10pm/2200 that sold contraceptives of the male variety). Still, beauty took my composure, forcing the smiles of a caught and convicted man. A man noticing her returned smile that doesn't incur wrath for my need of fleshly accompaniment at this time. But a time-passed knowing smile, one that accepts the amor of a nightly and mostly anonymous romance. Romancing letters would I have sent her, bestowing the grace and composed adoration she deserved. And yet she deserved not a battery and condomn seeking male consumer lover. So love her I did not.
And So I Hate Sentimental Poetic Crap
I would write of her perfect and engaging eyes,
if!...I had the chance.
I would write of her sultry and alluring smile,
if!...it could be mine.
But, lone and needy is not
the time for romance.
Though, prone could I plead,
I would praise her indeed.
Yes, she in her proper white frock
holds my minds eye, and I in shock,
still buy a rubber for my cock,
and this makes for a short goodbye.
Them's the breaks,
REV
And so with my own sense of realness I continue the story of my travels, or travails, as it were.
So begins booze and boobs pt. 2!
In Barcelona my drunken loneness was broken by the meeting of Sylvia...that's been stated. Whats hasn't been stated is my adoration for the young-dark-tressed-seductive-and-ultimately-unattainnable pharmacist whose late nite convenience enabled the coupling of Sylvia and I. I met her only twice. Twice she robbed me of illusion. Ill fortune making me need the thing she had. And what she had was copious and grand beauty (oh, and the issue that she was the only local shop open at 10pm/2200 that sold contraceptives of the male variety). Still, beauty took my composure, forcing the smiles of a caught and convicted man. A man noticing her returned smile that doesn't incur wrath for my need of fleshly accompaniment at this time. But a time-passed knowing smile, one that accepts the amor of a nightly and mostly anonymous romance. Romancing letters would I have sent her, bestowing the grace and composed adoration she deserved. And yet she deserved not a battery and condomn seeking male consumer lover. So love her I did not.
And So I Hate Sentimental Poetic Crap
I would write of her perfect and engaging eyes,
if!...I had the chance.
I would write of her sultry and alluring smile,
if!...it could be mine.
But, lone and needy is not
the time for romance.
Though, prone could I plead,
I would praise her indeed.
Yes, she in her proper white frock
holds my minds eye, and I in shock,
still buy a rubber for my cock,
and this makes for a short goodbye.
Them's the breaks,
REV